Finale
by screetick
Summary: It's the end of the world, as these things to happen and most matters have a finishing point. For everyone involved, there's nothing to do but wait it out.


As expected, it was bitingly cold out. Wind whipped through the narrow canyons formed by buildings, gathering speed and strength as it went. Anyone in their right mind was bundled up, with scarves pulled over their noses to fight the pervasive chill. The worst bit was that it was the unfortunate time of winter when the holidays are already over, and there is absolutely nothing to enjoy once one gets over the novelty of snow.

And when you are over a thousand years old, you have seen enough winters to feel their harsh reminders written in your bones.

The hollow eyed man was not particularly upset about this, mind you. He was sitting on a park bench, watching people shuffle past. All the greenery had shriveled and died months ago; a thick grassy carpet replaced by the brown-ish slush that results when snow has been left around for a few weeks. His thin shoes were soaked through with it, darkened by mud. Despite all his past winters, the low temperatures seemed distant, like he was merely catching a icy draft from an open door so very far away. It would not be worth it to buy a coat.

So instead he perched on his bench and saw everybody filter by, some striding along with more purpose than others. Little children in bright coats, toddling along and grabbing snow off the ground when they thought no one was looking. Men in suits, women carrying briefcases, old people shuffling along next to each other. It wasn't until he caught sight of a particular figure that he moved, tilting his head slightly.

Another man was striding towards him, almost indistinguishable from all the other people in the crowd. Something was off about him. A similar off-ness was possessed by the personage occupying the bench.

"End of the world, Arthur." The new arrival pulled off his hat, freeing the long blond hair that had been trapped underneath. "End of the world. It's a nice day, certainly. Nice day for finishing things up."

Shrugging, the seated man, or rather Arthur, looked up at Francis. "I hate February." After a pause, he rubbed his hands together. "Such an unneeded month. Should've had a word with whoever decided to put it in the calendar."

"I suppose." replied Francis, squinting at the horizon. He was holding his hat in front of him, barely moving at all. Pedestrians continued to meander by. Several minutes passed before he sat next to Arthur on the bench, crossing his legs with a faint wince.

A little girl had stopped to roll some grimy snow into a ball, and proceeded to lob it at her brother's head. Naturally, a fight ensued, only ceasing when a nanny got involved. She pried the two apart, hushing and comforting in a tongue neither of the nations called their own.

It was at that point that Arthur dropped his head into his hands, staring in a fixated manner at the patch of cement between his feet. "I can't believe we're just going to sit here and wait." He made as if to get up, but thought the better of it and remained where he was. "How many more minutes?"

"I could count them on my fingers. It's close." Francis answered flatly, pushing down the underlying tremor in his voice. The seconds ticked by. "We made the right choice, all of us. It would be cruel to tell the humans we're out of time. They'd panic, you know that." Once these words were out, his mouth became a thin, wavering line, tense in its contour. "Merciful, we're keeping them from worrying."

"Yes, merciful. Like shooting your lame horse in the head."

"Or annexation."

"Indeed." Arthur raised his face to gaze at the weak sun, which seemed to taunt them. "Everything has a moment when it must stop, that's the way it is. We wouldn't even know our end was coming, if we weren't what we are. If we were normal. Good thing we're countries." An amused flicker crossed his features. "Here we go, at the finish, getting all sad about it. Plenty of people die, we're long, long overdue."

It was three minutes until noon.

"Francis?"

"Mm?"

"Sorry I called you a frog, and all that. And for the time I punched you in the eye when I was little. I suppose I probably threw some snowballs, too."

Francis cracked a smile. "I assure you I probably returned the sentiment." One of his feet was tapping the ground nervously, and try as he might he couldn't get it to stop. "I'd rather be with you than pining away in Paris, waiting for the end. It's not as tragically romantic, or even patriotic, but I can't help my people now. All those wars, and now I'm sitting on a bench in London, waiting to die."

One minute until noon.

"People have died before us." Arthur coughed into his fist and watched the little girl and her brother chasing one another. "Honorable people. Wars, sickness." Memories of distant summers and springs rushed by like a cool stream he had played in before the real world had eaten him up.

Twenty seconds.

Francis folded his hands on his lap and stared straight ahead. "So this is how the world ends, Arthur?"

"Not with a bang,"

"But with a-"


End file.
